


Veto

by snowdarkred



Series: The Crossover Drabbles [5]
Category: West Wing
Genre: American Politics, Current Events, Gen, SOPA/PIPA, Santos Administration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-21
Updated: 2012-01-21
Packaged: 2017-10-29 21:03:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowdarkred/pseuds/snowdarkred
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Communications Director Sam Seaborn questions whether President Santos will veto a bill.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Veto

**Author's Note:**

> I'm counting this as a crossover because of the RL laws involved.
> 
> Also, I'm raging mad over this bullshit. Can you tell?

“Josh!” Sam shouts. He abandons dignity and runs after his longtime friend and technical boss, tie flapping. “ _Josh_ , I need to talk to you!”

 “Not now, Sam,” Josh sighs, flipping through papers. One of his assistants shoves a folder and a pen into his hands and tells him to sign. He checks his watch as he does so. He’s running twenty minutes behind, which is about equal to thirty minutes ahead, White House time. That won’t, however, remain true for long if Sam gets into what Josh thinks he’s going to get into.

“ _Josh!_ ”

“I’m serious, Sam, I don’t have time right now. I have a meeting some guys at the Department of Justice and thing some thing about Agriculture that I haven’t even been briefed on yet — _Sarah_ , where’s the brief on the Agriculture thing?”

“As the Communications Director, I have to talk to you about—”

“Is this about the soap thing?” Josh asks, checking his watch again. Sarah, bless her, rushes the Agriculture briefing into his hands. Hopefully he’ll be able to scan it after the meeting with Justice.

“ _SOPA_ , Josh, it’s called SOPA, which is short for—”

“I know what it’s short for.”

“I’m the Communications Director in this White House,” Sam says, grabbing Josh’s sleeve and making him pause for a moment. “That means that I direct the damn message, so tell me right now: Is the President going to veto this if it passes?”

“It’s not going to pass.”

“Josh—”

“Sam, it’s not going to pass!” Josh says, throwing his hands into the air. “Don’t worry about it!”

“Goddammit, Josh, you need to take this seriously!” Sam glares at him over the rim of his glasses. “I bit my tongue on the Occupy thing, and I held myself back about the you-know-what, but so help me  _God_ , Josh, I will not remain silent about freedom of speech!”

“This isn’t a freedom of speech issue,” Josh dismisses, turning away.

Sam gapes after him. “Don’t tell me you’re actually  _buying_  that?”

“Sam,” Josh says firmly, “it’s not going to pass. SOPA and PIPA and whatever other ridiculous anagram they come up with that  _rhymes_  isn’t going to pass, and if it does, the President will veto it.”

“Can you promise that?” Sam presses. Josh stops again, and they stare at each other across the hallway. “Can you say with complete confidence that, should a version of these bills wind up on the President’s desk, he’ll veto it? Can you?”

Josh looks at the crowded hallway, where interns and Senators rushed back and forth, doing the business of running the country. “My office,” he orders.

Sam holds his peace until the doors close behind them. “You know what industry gave the largest share of donations to President Santos’s campaign—”

“Don’t presume to tell me things that—”

“Hollywood did,” Sam continues, raising his voice. “The entertainment industry. The MPAA! The same people who are practically bribing Congress to get this travesty passed! So, again, Josh, I ask you: Will the President veto it?”

Josh collapses onto his couch with a sigh. Sam takes a seat across from him. “You can’t, can you?”

“Between you and me?” Josh asks softly.

Sam nods. “Always.”

“It should be you in that room,” Josh whispers, like it’s a shameful secret. It is. Josh got a man elected as President of the United States, and he’s a good man. But he’s not the President Josh thought he would be. He’s not the President Josh wants. 

There’s a discreet knock on the door. “Mr. Lyman, you’re late for the meeting with Justice in the Roosevelt Room.”

“I’ll be right there,” Josh calls. He looks at Sam. “I’ll get you five minutes with the President, okay?”

“Okay,” Sam says. Josh heaves himself to his feet and leaves for his meeting.

“Sometimes I think so too,” Sam tells the empty room. He looks at the door to the Oval Office. “But only sometimes.”


End file.
